To His Credit
by Zemmiphobia
Summary: Philippe Gaston was born with two soulmarks, it's his luck that not only are they beautiful, they're also in a fairy tale. One with an ending that doesn't include him. F/M/M


**Disclaimer: I do not own Ladyhawke and all credit goes to the creators.**

* * *

Philippe is born with two soul marks, curling around his inner thighs. He couldn't read them, but he liked to run his fingers over the letters, tracing their curves. The marks are short, only two words apiece but the letters are sleek, slanting over his skin like the artwork he sometimes sees in the Church.

At first, he can't afford the coin to have a local priest read them. Then he's wanted in almost all of France for theft. It isn't until much later, when he stumbles across an imprisoned scribe, that he learns their message.

You, out

I know

* * *

He isn't surprised when he's ordered out of the inn. He's surprised to live, surprised to take another breath, surprised to feel pain under his ribs as he races to freedom, but the man in black strikes Philippe as exactly the type whose opening words to his soulmate are an order. He doesn't say anything later, even when the man flinches at the first words out of Philippe's mouth.

' _Please, don't kill me'_.

He does feels a curl of hope, however, until later that night, when he sees the words ' _I believe that's mine'_ licking their way up Etienne's forearm.

* * *

Somehow, the words tumbling out of the beautiful stranger's mouth are even less startling than seeing his first soulmate aim a crossbow in his general direction. It's at this point that, watching her walk off into the night wearing the man in black's cloak, Philippe thinks that God is not as ambivalent about his thievery as he had always hoped. He lays awake all night, hand between his legs, tracing letters that burn in his mind, thinking that it's one thing to be bound to nobles who don't want him; it's another when they are both as beautiful as angels.

* * *

Etienne disappears into the gloom, leaving Philippe alone and tied to the tree. He supposes he should feel grateful that Etienne was kind enough to leave enough slack that his arms don't go numb, but Philippe can't find it in him. He should never have tried to leave while Etienne was watching. It was a stupid move, one born from the small part of him that still hoped a future with his soulmates was possible. It wasn't a mistake he'd make again.

Sighing, he looks over his shoulder just in time to see his second soulmate dive for a rabbit.

* * *

He watches her sleep and tries not to think. It should be easy, considering that Philippe relies more on his instincts than his brain, but somehow he can't stop the stream of thoughts that invade his mind. Sometimes, he almost manages it before his eyes are drawn back to the spidery words on Isabeau's chest, just above her breast.

' _Are you sure?'_

He had always known he would be rejected, known it since he first known what a soulmate was.

As Isabeau opens her eyes, Philippe pushes the pain down, determined that at least two of them should find happiness.

* * *

Philippe runs behind Goliath and wonders, not for the first time, why God had seen to give him a soulmate as stubborn as Etienne Navarre. He has met many nobles over the years, usually at the end of a sword, but Etienne is by far the most irritating. Even more so than a Baron who had knocked him out a window and into a garbage heap. He supposes he can't blame him; he wouldn't have believed the drunken priest either, if Imperius hadn't seemed so determined.

Philippe sighs.

"But if the old man _is_ right about breaking the curse…"

* * *

Philippe holds Isabeau as she sinks against him, face buried in the crook of his neck. She isn't crying but he can feel her tremble. Partly in relief, he images, but partly in rage.

He doesn't know what kind of person she was before the spell, but he's been around her enough to know that even when she walks as a Lady, some part of her is still a hawk. You don't spend half your life as a predator without picking up a few traits. He lets her wrap around him and laughs weakly when she mutters a foul word.

* * *

Philippe answers Etienne's questions about the night he almost dies and it is the most awkward morning of his life. Though each word breaks his heart, watching the wolf recede from Etienne's eyes makes it worth it. He knows he could never be a true part of their lives, especially once their curse is broken, but he can settle for being their messenger and their friend. If they need a dance partner or poet, who is he to refuse them? It isn't a bad way to live, at least for now.

 _Do you know hawks and wolves mate for life?_

* * *

He's getting used to their smiles, always quick, with a tinge of bitterness, but sweet all the same. He likes when they're directed at him and at not some deep inner thought that pulls them under. At first, it's like being pricked by a knife but after a while, he allows himself to smile back. He tells himself that it's because, in a way, they're becoming friends. If friends still ordered you to gather firewood or help them repair a loose sleeve, of course. It's easier, some days, that they never smile together, as horrible as that thought makes him feel.

* * *

Etienne Navarre is an idiot. A beautiful, wonderful, heartbreakingly stupid idiot. He's stubborn, impossible, demanding, intimidating and a slew of other words Philippe's only ever heard from priests and doesn't understand but thinks probably apply to him. There may not even be words to describe the man who is riding away into the sunset while the only person who could talk some sense into him still has feathers. If he wasn't equally terrified and in love, he'd march up and shake the man.

Instead, Philippe watches them go and wonders, of the two of them, who is the bigger idiot.

* * *

Isabeau d'Anjou is a goddess, God's gift to the world. Even if she wasn't the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, possible in the entire world, her intelligence alone made her a saint as far as Philippe was concerned. He isn't sure why she agrees to their plan, especially after they had made Etienne's feelings clear, but he supposed it is because, unlike her lover, she has the gift of rational thinking.

Philippe watches her face as Imperius lays out the plan, watches the steel enter her eyes and her lips go thin, and can't help but love her.

* * *

It is Imperius that pulls him out of the water, and somehow that hurts more than all the bloody scratches Etienne leaves behind. Laying in the snow, listening to Isabeau, he is equally relieved and aching. He can't begrudge Isabeau for holding Etienne to her breast, can't blame wolf Etienne who, despite a small fondness for Philippe, has no idea who he is. But Philippe thinks, for the first time, that maybe this small part he occupies is not enough after all. Later, as they huddle by the fire Imperius has made, Philippe watches the flames and begins to plan.

* * *

He lets them both kiss him. It's not enough, not even close, but it gives him the strength to leave the cathedral. It doesn't hurt as much as he thought it would but that might be because he is numb. That night, Etienne and Isabeau throw a party, opening the Bishop's personal stores and invite every soul in the city to join the two in celebration. A message has already been sent to the King of the Bishop's death. The lovers assure him that it will be fine; Etienne did not spend the last few years idling in the countryside.

* * *

Philippe tries to sneak away from the party no less than eight times. It gets progressively harder the more he drinks until the sun is rising over the city and he is trying to climb a wall that doesn't actually lead to the outside. When Etienne pulls him down, both lovers throw their arms around him and laugh. Philippe is just far enough gone that he laughs with them. They guide him to a room more lavish than he had ever been in. His last thought before he falls asleep is how much he could sell the bed covers for.

* * *

When he awakes, the room is empty. There is, however, a tub of water and a bowl of fruit waiting in one corner. The water is almost cool but it's warmer than the rivers he had been washing in for the last few months, so he strips and gets in anyways. No use wasting the water some poor maid had to drag up the steps. He's never washed in a tub before, so it takes him a few minutes before he figures out how to move without spilling water everywhere. He'll be gone within the hour, he promises to himself.

* * *

He drops the apple, fingers still slick from poking the contents of the many bottles lining the walls. It falls and rolls under the bed. He could just leave it there but he's never been one for wasting food. Grumbling absently at God about luxury, he gets down on his knees and ducks down to fish for it. He doesn't hear the door open but he does hear a feminine shriek, loud enough he starts and smacks his skull on the bed's underside. The maid, he thinks, rubbing his head. He's about to back out when fingers circle his ankle.

* * *

The fingers pull him away from the bed until he's lying awkwardly on his stomach. Uncomfortably aware that he is naked as a babe, he rolls onto his back and holds both hands over his groin. Etienne is staring at him, hand still clamped around his ankle. At first, Philippe thinks he is staring at his hands but after a moment, he realizes the older man is staring at his thighs… or more specifically, at the words on his skin, just brushing the line of his hip. Etienne abruptly releases him.

"Don't leave." He orders, before disappearing into the hall.

* * *

Predictably, he does. The door hasn't stopped moving before Philippe is up and grabbing his clothes. He pulls them on, not caring that the shirt is backwards. He ties a small sack to his waist, throws in a few apples, and slips out the door. The hallway is empty, for which he sends up a small prayer. His luck holds and he reaches the stables without incident. The few soldiers on watch either recognize him from the day before or don't care enough to question him. He fades into the city, reaches the countryside by noon, and then heads east.

* * *

He isn't expecting them to follow him. They had just found each other after years of waiting, what did they need him for? Third bonds were rare and the Church was divided on whether they were the work of Satan or simply didn't exist at all. In any case, the two lovers hardly needed another in their love story. He was a thief, a peasant, a fool. He'd be fine on his own.

By the next night, he's sleeping in an inn. Well, the stable loft, since he had forgotten his coin bag and was too tired to steal one.

* * *

He awakens to a bright morning, a stiff back, and a large, angry man looming over him. Etienne says nothing, throwing Philippe his bag before throwing Philippe on his horse. They ride out of the village in silence, not even Goliath daring to make a noise. Philippe keeps his head down, eyes on the saddle and tries not to think. At one point he squirms, trying to get feeling back in his legs, and the arms around him tighten to the point of pain. After that, he gives up, closes his eyes, and tries to enjoy it while it lasts.

* * *

They do stop for the night, Philippe hadn't been sure they would, and Etienne tries him hand and foot. He does not leave any slack. He is, however, nice enough to feed him and when they sleep, Etienne throws his cloak over the two of them. The night is quiet and Philippe doesn't fall asleep for a long time. Judging by the rise and fall of his companion's chest against his back, neither does Etienne. Instead, he lies awake and watches the stars, trying desperately to push down the hope uncurling in his heart. He can feel it rise anyways.

* * *

Isabeau is waiting for them. She has dark circles under her eyes and Philippe feels guilty. This should be a week of celebration and instead she has to watch her lover ride off without her to chase down a thief. Etienne has still not spoken to him and when he hands off Goliath to a servant, he curls a hand around the back of Philippe's neck and pulls him along. Isabeau leads them into a bedroom filled with shelves of books and a small couch. She sits at one end and Etienne takes the other, pulling Philippe down between them.

* * *

"Explain."

Etienne may not be a wolf anymore, but he hasn't lost his growl. Philippe squeaks, embarrassingly like his nickname, and jerks in Etienne's grip. Isabeau frowns, gives Etienne a silent, speaking glance and places a hand on Philippe's check, turning him to look at her. Etienne does not release his neck.

"Do you bare our marks?" She asks, eyes troubled. Between the two of them, Philippe feels as though his legs have been turned to stone.

"Who can say, milady?" He starts, trying for a light tone. Etienne's grip tightens and he hurries to add, "They are very vague."

* * *

"What did you say to him?" Etienne asks Isabeau over Philippe's head. She pauses, looking lost in thought. "He… he told me there was a wolf. I said –"

"I know." Etienne finishes. "They fit." He releases Philippe and begins to pull off his boot. There, on his ankle, are Philippe's own words in a messy, barely legible scrawl. He shudders and sags against Isabeau's hand. Isabeau waits until Etienne is holding Philippe still again to lift the edge of her dress until one of her thighs is bared. It says _'Don't go out there'_ in the same horrible hand.

* * *

"Please," he begs weakly. "There's no point in this. I know my place in the world and I'm good at it. None of us need to follow this." If only he had made his escape earlier, he thinks as the two share a look. He could have spared them all this knowledge.

"We've always known there was a third." Isabeau says, almost to herself. "Even with the curse, we knew." Etienne nods and places his hand over hers where it rests on her thigh, just above Philippe's mark. "You can imagine our relief when it wasn't the Bishop." She adds.

* * *

"Be honest, Philippe." Etienne says, turning Philippe to look him in the eye. "Do you wish to leave?"

Etienne's eyes are like small flames, burning straight into his soul. He tries to look away but meet's Isabeau's gaze instead. He swallows hard.

"I don't. I mean, I'd like. I—" He squeaks again when Etienne shakes him. "No!" He finally gasps. "No, I don't want to leave." He curls in on himself, cheeks flaming. Isabeau and Etienne smile, pulling him into a tight hug.

"Good." Etienne says into his hair as Isabeau strokes his side. "Because we're not letting you."

* * *

It's not as hard as Philippe feared. Isabeau and Etienne are learning to be a couple again and he fits well in their new spaces. Etienne marries Isabeau and becomes the Duke of d'Anjou with the king's blessing. Later that night, they both marry Philippe in a private ceremony held by Imperius. And if Etienne has a habit of prowling the halls at ungodly hours of the night, and Isabeau snaps rather than soothes, and Philippe sometimes comes home with new jewels in his pockets, they learn to work with it. It is, as Philippe tells God, to his credit.

* * *

 **The End**


End file.
